


Side Effects May Vary

by StumblingBlock



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, And He Needs All the Therapy, BAMF Dave Strider, BAMF Karkat Vantas, But It's Mostly John and Karkat Failing Hard Together, Eventual BAMF John Egbert, It Just Takes Him a Little Longer, It's Not a Full On Darkfic But Things Aren't Going Well, M/M, Mental Instability, More Relationships to be added, NOTHING IS AS IT SEEMS, Psychic Abilities, Some Low Key Kinda Horror Stuff, Torture, Trolls Are Also Not Your Pets, Trolls Are Not Your Friends, Vriska Should Never Be Anyone's Emotional Support Ever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27255442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StumblingBlock/pseuds/StumblingBlock
Summary: Nothing beats having your very own troll for a pet.  Smarter than dogs, cuter than kittens!  They’ve always been here.  You can cuddle all day!  Or have them help you with your chores!  Tell them all your secrets.  Don’t have a troll in your household yet?  No problem!  Isn’t it great how they show up on your doorstep all on their own?  Begin your new life today.Trolls love you.  Trolls are your friends.John Egbert is afraid of everythingand with good reason.
Relationships: John Egbert/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Side Effects May Vary

John Egbert is going to perish of dehydration.

There are six water bottles around him, arranged in a semicircle (he’s trying not to notice, actually; all the bottle caps are aimed towards him and if he pays attention, they’ll start to look like teeth). He thought he’d brought another pack, but this is the third time he’s looked over in the designated Supply Corner™ and nothing has magically poofed into existence.

It’s only been a couple of hours since he noticed he was thirsty. 

Maybe he should just go to sleep!

Maybe he should message Dave. Rose will try to make him talk about his feelings, but Dave said he’d come over if John ever really needed it, and John’s impending thirst-related death probably qualifies.

(No it doesn’t.)

John sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. It’s pretty greasy. He probably smells. Add ‘shower’ to the list of things he needs to do. 

Water. Shower (maybe). Eat? No, fuck it, one problem at a time. 

Start with getting up.

John levers himself up. 

(So far so good?)

His room is always kind of a mess. All the trash in one corner, all the remaining food in another (in heaping stacks of Styrofoam and Tupperware). Then there’s John’s corner. That’s the one with the computer.

The last corner he keeps empty because if he sees anything over there, that tells him what kind of day it’s going to be. 

Right now it’s empty. Good! Past the familiar mattress on the floor, past the closets (eying them warily; the doors are duct taped shut, but John doesn’t trust them and their funny business), and then there’s the door. John’s headphones are hanging around his neck. He tucks them over his ears before he ventures forth. Wraps the loose dangling cord around his wrist, takes a deep breath, and then opens the door like ripping off a Band-Aid.

Nothing.

His heart is going like the Energizer bunny. He takes a deep, slow breath, hyper-loud with headphones on. _Calm down_ , he tells himself. _You’ll scare yourself into it, you always do. If you just stay calm, nothing will happen._

He half-believes it too. Then he sees the stairs. 

They are yawning down like the blackest pit into hell, and the white tile at the bottom looks wet with _something_ and John just about turns around and walks back into his bedroom.

Fuck, Dave will make fun of him forever if this is how he dies. Critical dehydration with water one floor down. And John will actually have to listen to the abuse, because he’ll have his computer with him the whole time he dies of thirst.

Something crinkles behind him. “Shit,” John says loudly to cover it, clamping his hands over his headphones. He starts down the stairs. “Dave, you suck so hard. You are the worst.” John is bad with stairs. It’s slow. His right leg drags behind him at an awkward angle. Under his jeans, there’s a long, jagged, bone-white scar going all the way up to his knee. So shorts are a no-go, because the scar freaks John out.

_Crinkle crinkle crinkle._

(Yeah, okay, literally everything freaks John out.)

He drops onto the tile at the bottom and cringes— _goosh_ , oh boy, it’s wet. Why is it wet? Great.

So not looking.

_Don’t look, don’t look—_

The crinkling is louder now and it’s starting to sound like splattering instead—and so, so, so close it’s about to go down his neck.

John darts away, eyes pinned straight to the neglected hollow of his kitchen. (Don’t look at the floor.) He knows which cabinet the water goes in. (Don’t look behind you.) Super easy! People go get water all the time. You can even train trolls to do this. John does his push-ups and everything, he’s got this in the fucking ba—

 _BANG_ , he hears and holy shit that’s loud, that’s _deafening_ , like a wrecking ball just, oh no, caved in the side of his apartment and it

all

goes

sideways.

Literally. Because John jumped so hard he slipped.

The floor is—it’s melting? Shit, no. It’s _quicksand_. He scrambles backwards, trying to pull himself out of it. It sucks at his hands and feet. It’s bubbling over his knees.

 _Not real,_ John tells himself. _Not real. When it goes over your head, you’ll still be able to breathe. Don’t panic._

It’s soupy and strangely green and up to his neck as he sinks, floundering in an attempt to get upright. _No_. He needs to get to the cabinet with the water. It’s floor-level. It’s the cabinet under the sink. The floor has already risen past that. He can’t see the cabinet and—

_BANG_

His ears try to implode. Shit. He’s hyperventilating. He’s going to make himself worse. Something’s trying to get in.

He squeezes his eyes shut so he can’t see, and claws for the handle to the cabinet. It’s here somewhere. He can go back upstairs when he finds it and everything will be—

**_BANG_ **

He yells in spite of himself. _The neighbors are going to complain_ , John thinks hysterically. _They’ll complain and I’m going to drown in linoleum. If I’m lucky, that’ll be before whatever is breaking my door down gets in here and makes me squish my own eyeballs, or shoves a million computer cables down my throat, or whatever else my stupid, fucked up brain can come up with—_

And then he feels Something touch him and well, the linoleum is a secondary concern. 

Copper floods is mouth as he bites down. Once Something gets in, that’s Game Over. John can tell himself it’s not real all he wants. But it sure feels fucking real.

Every single time, it feels real.

Then the Something shakes him, hard. John’s eyes squint open. Oh. 

It’s Vriska.

“…Vriska?” John croaks. 

The floor has gone back to being floor. John is on his side, which explains why he couldn’t figure out how to get back on his feet. He is in the fetal position. Vriska does not look impressed.

“Hi, loser,” she says, and hauls him up by the shoulders. She props John up against the trash can. “For five seconds I actually thought you answered my knocking, but you were just being batshit again, huh.”

John’s glasses have skittered a few inches away. He shoves them back on his nose. _Bang, bang, bang_ , he remembers—and groans. “That was _you_?” Geez, Vriska knocks like she’s trying to break in. And then, puzzled, “Huh. I can hear you.”

“Yep,” Vriska answers. “You scream like a girl. And these are the wrong headphones.” She pops one side of the headphones off his head and lets it snap back down. John winces. 

The wrong headphones. John rubs his face with one hand. The noise-cancelling ones had been hurting his ears. Right, he’d traded them out. And then forgotten all about it.

The general idea is that if he blocks out reality, he’ll know everything else is a hallucination. It helps him guess what stuff is just his brain messing with him. 

Usually. It _usually_ helps.

“Is it Friday already?” John asks. 

“Surprise visit,” Vriska answers, and flicks some offending lock of hair over her shoulder. “But you’re still completely hopeless without me, I see.” She then adds, with great benevolence, “You look like roadkill.”

“I was trying to get water,” John protests.

“By yourself?” She raises an eyebrow. “Wow John, I see that went sooooooo well.”

“Shut up,” John grumbles, but the sweat is cooling on his skin and he’s started to breathe normally again. Vriska puts one hand to his cheek. She tilts his head a little, peering at him through her glasses. 

John has no idea why she does this, because it’s like she’s trying to check and see if he’s on drugs. But they both know that John Egbert can barely make it out of his room without having a nervous breakdown. For years it’s been completely impossible for him to actually leave his apartment, which is sort of a drug acquisition prerequisite.

It still feels nice, so John shuts his eyes and lets himself enjoy it.

Eventually, Vriska ruffles his hair and then goes, “Okay, ew, no, you’re taking a shower today.”

John blinks his eyes open to shoot her his most wounded look. “The floor,” he says, “Just tried to _eat_ me.”

“Like I care,” Vriska fires back. “I brought us lunch. Put it on the table while I bring your shit in.” She hauls John up with ease. John’s tall, but he’s skinny as a toothpick. He’s recovered enough that his knees do not just immediately dump him on the floor—very nice—and Vriska strolls out whistling the _Jaws_ theme song. John grins after her. She is such a bitch.

The takeout bag is enormous. John lurches for the table, scooting between some kind of a barricade made of bookshelves and fold-out chairs. No clue what he was thinking when he put this stuff here. He only ever eats here when he has company (meaning Vriska).

And he freezes in place. Blinks hard. “Uh,” John goes.

Vriska pokes her head back around the corner. It’s three seconds—because John gets nervous if he thinks she was only pretending to look—and then she calls loudly, “Nothing’s on the table, John.”

Yeah, that’s good.

“Okay,” John says. He’s a little careful anyway. He whips his hands back fast. The spiders don’t dissolve right away, but just sit there, twitching, with the food containers embedded in the spaces their glistening bodies are occupying. They’re hairless and each as big as puffy purple dinner plates.

Eventually, thwarted, his brain lets it go. There are now minus two giant bugs on the table. John breathes a sigh of relief.

Vriska beans him in the head with a water bottle.

“Drink up,” she shouts, already out the door again. “Your lips are bleeding and it’s nasty.”

John remembers he is dying of thirst. 

After lunch, Vriska drapes herself languidly over the banister and watches John huff and puff his way up and down, dragging up crates of food and water. This time he doesn’t get lazy. He’s going to put as many drinks in his room as will fit. Also, if John slows down at all, Vriska starts waving her arms and pretends like she’ll fall off her perch. John just rolls his eyes at this. It only set him off the once, and she knows this. John feels nothing for her plight.

“You could help,” he points out, panting over a particularly arm-wrenching load. Vriska’s shopping had a theme today and the theme was: cans.

“I am helping so much,” Vriska replies. “Helping you exercise. I am the only reason you’re not 400 pounds and hideous. Move it, gimpy.”

John rolls his eyes some more because it’s too hard to grin while he’s carrying heavy stuff. Once or twice, he glances up at her, just checking, and she immediately meets his eyes with the exact same calculated expression of boredom. And John takes another step, because he knows Vriska wouldn’t let him get hurt. Whatever it is, it’s not really there. He might not be able to convince himself of that, but Vriska can. They have a system. 

He carries the trash downstairs too, and Vriska deigns to take it out. When she gets back, they head back upstairs as a single, multi-limbed unit. Vriska immediately throws herself down on John’s mattress. Then she says “ow” and sits up. 

“Spring?”

“ _Floor_ ,” Vriska complains. “This thing is worthless! Why don’t you have an actual bed?”

“I like this one,” John shrugs. He’d be happier if the mattress was thinner, honestly. Less space for anything to hide below.

“Yeah, but this whole place makes me feel like I’m abusing you,” Vriska says, wrinkling her nose as she looks around. “I’m decorating it.”

John’s never met a poster his illness couldn’t turn into a portal to an alternate dimension from which to unleash all kinds of hell demons, so he keeps the walls bare. He’s banned anything that could be hidden under/in, which rules out most furniture. He had to get rid of the carpet too. It kept turning into nails under his feet. The floor is now bare concrete.

He smiles a little, remembering. That had actually been a good day. Vriska had helped him tear the carpet up, slapping him a high five at the end and declaring that security deposits were for pussies, anyway. 

Vriska, surveying the room one final time, says with gravity, “I’m thinking really ugly gargoyles.”

“Oh god, _no_ ,” John says, laughing and shuddering at the same time.

“With big teeth. Like mandibles. Maybe with a little red paint—“

“Stop talking,” John shoves her. He flops onto the mattress too. He can kind of see a gargoyle out of the corner of his eye. It’s not scary, though. Not much is scary while Vriska’s around. “You could visit more,” John offers. “Then I’d put whatever you want in here.” It wouldn’t be so bad to get stabbed or chewed on every once in a while. Just as long as he knew it was going to be over soon.

Vriska blows out a puff of air at the ceiling. “I have a life, John.”

“Right,” John grimaces. “Sorry. Geez. You know, you don’t even have to come over here if you don’t want to. It’s not like this is your problem.”

“If I didn’t come over, you’d die,” Vriska says flatly.

Neither of them say anything for a minute. John puffs his cheeks at the ceiling.

Vriska starts fidgeting, and then comes up with, “I mean, it’s not like anyone else could come either. Because your parents are dead and you have no friends.”

“Hey, I have friends,” John protests. 

“You have internet friends,” Vriska announces. “Not the same thing!” She pats John on the head comfortingly. “But it’s for the best. Besides, your parents would be horrified if they knew how you turned out, so it’s better that they’re dead.”

John smiles at Vriska in mild disbelief. Her tone says she fully intends that to be a reassuring statement, and that John should feel honored, because cool people like Vriska Serket don’t do feelings.

Gee, we wonder why.

“Now go take a bath,” Vriska tells him, digs her combat boot into his side, and neatly rolls John off the mattress. He splutters a protest as she colonizes the empty space. “No, I didn’t forget, and _yes_ , you’re going whether you want to or not. Then we can cuddle and you can ask me about my day.” She makes a shooing motion with her hands. John groans.

The shower is also not his favorite place to be. Last time the hot water made his skin blister, and when he tried to soak it in cold, it burned even worse before he realized the only stuff coming out of the tap was acid.

“Look, just don’t say anything about gargoyles. I do not need one of those in there with me while I’m naked.”

“Then don’t be boring,” Vriska calls before he trudges into the bathroom. “Or I will totally leave. Or worse.” She waggles her eyebrows. “I’ll talk about _trolls_.”

Offended, John sticks his tongue out.

He leaves the shower door open, so the conversation can keep going. It’s not so bad like that. And hey, threats aside, Vriska is right where he left her when he trudges out. John is now damper and 400% more emotionally traumatized. He accepts the clean shirt she throws at his head because Vriska doesn’t know how to hand people things.

“C’mere, loser,” she says, with grabby hands and this fully evil smirk that has definitely haunted the nightmares of her classmates. 

John is broken and he knows it. Nothing is ever going to put him back the way he was, and he’ll probably never function in society again. But nothing about that smirk scares him. That smirk is home.

He flops bonelessly into Vriska’s arms and she pets him like he’s her very own evil Bond villain laptroll, launching into all the complaints about college that John doesn’t have to deal with anymore. John grins at nothing.

Fortuitously, the nothing stays nothing.

So John wasn’t always crazy.

In fact, John made a pretty standard kid. Copy-and-paste childhood—kind of nerdy but basically average, normal parents, normal friends, normal life. Video games and I-want-to-be-an-astronaut-when-I-grow-up. Something like that. Except for the days when he wanted to be a stage magician. So astronaut/stage magician combo. First of his kind.

And then a semi truck’s brakes cut out while his parents’ car was crossing the intersection. 

John started living with his uncle.

Kept to himself. Quieter now. But sad and lonely aren’t the same as off-your-rocker crazy. John wasn’t there yet.

He met Dave, Rose, and Vriska. When he got to know them better, he started laughing again. He started telling jokes again, and playing pranks, and complaining about homework, and being a kid. They got each other through high school (barely; Dave was like a bully magnet and remembering is still just a little bit awful). John’s parents had left him the money for college. Dave was going to work his way through. Rose was probably going to take over the world one day. Vriska loudly declared she was all done studying for forever and called John every weekend. Then she turned up to college anyway with an inexplicable amount of money, a wink, and explained her presence with the word “shenanigans”.

So what’s wrong with John? According to the best guesses of various medical professionals, it’s brain damage. Probably. The Accident, the one when he was twenty, it was pretty serious.

(John’s first episode involved a troll, which Vriska is never going to let go of, because for some reason she finds this hilarious.)

John did the medication thing for a while. He went to a bunch of therapists, stayed in hospitals, took all the tests. But he just kept getting worse and worse until he literally could not get himself to the hospital. Until he couldn’t even ride in a car. Until he couldn’t get himself past the front door.

And this is where they are now. Rose and Dave both graduated. Now Rose lives far away. Dave’s only a couple of hours out, but he’s always busy and he’s apparently got the world’s neediest pet, so he’s been able to visit maybe twice and couldn’t stay long. 

Honestly, it’s easier for John if Dave doesn’t visit. It was years ago, but John remembers the look on Dave’s face. The pity, the frozen horror.

The _guilt_. 

John had been afraid, briefly, that when he stopped leaving the house Vriska was going to send him to some crazy-person institution where they’d give him more medication that wouldn’t work, and lock him in rooms that had furniture and pictures on the walls. You can probably just report people like John and then someone will come take them away. Then he wouldn’t be anyone’s problem.

Instead, Vriska opted to bring him food and water and dig him out of his mess every few days. She cut his hair. She threw things at him to make him startle, like his illness was one big punch line. John didn’t have a job. No one had evicted him from his apartment. Vriska must have been handling the rent too.

John kind of hated himself for doing that to her.

Sometimes he still hates Vriska a little, because if she would just _stop_ _caring_ already, John could delete his stupid brain off the face of the universe and wouldn’t have to worry about her finding the body.

But the truth is, he’s not going anywhere until Vriska gets sick of him. And Vriska seems pretty stubborn about not giving up on him, so John is gonna be pretty stubborn about living.

John wakes up disoriented. He spends a long moment rubbing his eyes while awareness dribbles in. Right, Vriska had somewhere to be. She left earlier. John—ugh—he must have fallen asleep.

There are about five blankets piled on top of him, probably because Vriska was messing with him. Although, since he isn’t waking up all hot and sweaty, she must have turned the air up too. 

It’s dark out. John hugs the warmest blanket around his shoulders and scoots off the bed, hissing. The concrete is like ice. His computer hums to life while John, heedless of what hallucination he’s inviting because _fuck_ it’s cold, snatches up three more blankets and attempts to become one with a blanket igloo.

Ooh, Rose sent him a message. Looks like another long one. Better read that after he’s slightly more awake.

Dave’s icon is still lit up. Dave has work in the morning, but this has never stopped Dave from doing anything, nor has it, incredibly, actually gotten Dave fired. John has no idea how Dave accomplishes this. It’s 2:30 AM.

He clicks and the screen is immediately swallowed by an ad. John groans. A fluffy lilac-furred troll prances onscreen. John scowls at the ceiling while the familiar, mind-numbing jingle starts to play— _smarter than a dog, cuter than a kitten, now I’m your very best friend_ —ugh. He’s drumming his fingers against his leg by the time it gets to the part about sharing all your secrets. Ugh. These ads get longer every time, he swears.

Eventually—with a final, perky _trolls love you! Trolls are your friends_ —the ad retreats. John isn’t fooled. It’s still there. _Lurking._ Ready to invade again at the most inconvenient time.

Dave, it turns out, was bugging him _during_ work yesterday. Wow.

TG: dude, this is your moment

TG: rise o chosen hero and become my salvation with your mad snark before the boss’s fucking penis performance chart can drive me to anything drastic

TG: egbert

TG: dont leave your boy hangin like this

TG: okay i see how it is

TG: like, not about the chart, i still have no fucking idea why im even in this meeting

TG: and i swear hes still talking about his dong goddamn

TG: anyway guess im just gonna sit here and pretend to listen until you get back from organizing your lint collection or whatever it is you do all day

TG: holy shit

TG: just realized ive got a bunch of kitkats pictures on my phone

TG: score

TG: fyi, all of them are adorable

John scrolls further down, mercifully skipping over Dave’s infatuated rambling. John appreciates that Karkat gives Dave’s life new meaning, he just isn’t willing to read sixteen lines exhorting the fluffiness of Karkat’s ears.

Could be the crazy talking, though. Dave insists that everyone else with a pulse would weep over Karkat’s cuteness.

Then again, John _has_ actually met Karkat. And Karkat has the personality of a woodchipper. So.

Dave at some point figured out that John fell asleep. After running out of ways to rap about how adorable Karkat is, he then conspired to rap about John’s sleep habits. John smothers a groan into his hand. 

The messages end on an intriguing note:

TG: yo, lemme know when you’re back online

Huh. That sounds like Dave actually has something to talk about.

EB: sorry, vriska stopped by earlier and i must have dozed off

EB: what’s up?

TG: huh whatd she want

EB: nothing, we just kind of hung out

EB: anyway, glad you survived your boredom!

TG: likewise

TG: glad you survived the spiderbitch

John sort of gets the feeling that Dave and Vriska had a falling out at some point. This particular nickname is a subtle clue.

EB: i’m great like that

EB: anyway, still want to talk?

  
TG: its about karkat

Oh boy.

EB: dave no

EB: not again

TG: calm your tits im not going to adorn your unworthy screen with my karkat poetries

EB: again, you mean

TG: look tonight our mangrit is safe

TG: locked up tight in a mangrit sanctuary for endangered dudeness

TG: specialists on speed dial if our mangrit so much as gets the sniffles

TG: all here have some bacon and premium sports channels, wanna talk about your dream car

TG: but like its still about karkat

John waits, but Dave doesn’t write anything right away. John’s brow furrows.

EB: he’s not sick is he?

EB: dave???

TG: what no hes fine

TG: just

EB: ???

TG: ive got a work thing

TG: and i need someone to watch him for a few days

John blinks.

EB: uh

EB: and you thought of me

TG: kinda

EB: dave

EB: just

EB: you do know i can’t leave the house, right?

Leaving aside the obvious logistical problem of being unable to leave his apartment, John has absolutely no idea how to look after a troll.

Well, the internet insists that trolls are the sweetest, most affectionate, and easiest pets to handle. A child can do it.

But like. Trolls are _alive._ John shouldn’t be trusted with things that don’t come in plastic wrap.

TG: no shit

TG: that never occurred to me

TG: someone get me stone and my chisel to preserve this vital revelation for the future of humankind

EB: wow, thanks for that!

TG: anyway, i wasn’t gonna just dump kitkat at your place and expect you to drop everything and handle his delicate gastronomical needs

TG: like no what kind of troll owner do you take me for

EB: then i'm still not getting what this is about

EB: do you want me to ask vriska because this is a really weird way of doing that

TG: god no

TG: got all of the stuff you’ll need right here, sick accommodations, guest room

TG: complementary cute as shit troll

TG: so i mean

TG: come hang out bro

EB: dude no way

TG: damn that was fast

John puts his face in his hands for a moment.

EB: I CAN’T LEAVE MY HOUSE

EB: dave

EB: how the hell would i get to yours???

TG: i was thinking id come pick you up

EB: what

TG: there is this fabulous invention called cars

EB: a;sdghttg

There’s some novelty to this. John is nearly hyperventilating again, and for the first time in a while, it has nothing to do with his hallucinations. 

EB: no just no no no

EB: i'm not fit to look after myself!!

EB: i am not agreeing to watch your troll

EB: i could kill him, oh my god

TG: hey, karkat doesnt need much from you

TG: mostly handles his own business

TG: just need you in the house egbert

TG: cause hell get all lonely and pathetic

EB: the fuck dave

TG: look just calm down a second

TG: dont log off yet

And then John makes a fatal mistake. 

He hesitates.

TG: i know this is a really big deal for you

TG: like we joke about it all ha ha john never sees the light of the sun because it sucks slightly less if we pretend its no big deal that you live like that

TG: but it is a big deal and i fucking get that john

TG: im just out of options

TG: i cant take karkat with me

TG: if i leave him alone im worried hell run off and probably get run over

TG: because lets face it hes kind of dumb

John snorts.

TG: and being completely honest here youre the only person i trust with him

EB: that’s stupid.

TG: maybe

TG: but its still true

Oh.

EB: dave, this is such a bad idea

EB: karkat doesn’t even know me

EB: even if he did run away, what would i be able to do?

TG: egbert

TG: remember the last time i asked you for a favor?

John blinks.

He can think of times he’s _done_ Dave a favor. 

There were times Dave was short on cash in college, but John and Vriska just snuck money into his wallet. And in high school, Dave straight up lied about getting bullied until Rose had more or less surgically extracted Dave’s emotions from his butt. Then they’d all come up with a system to keep Dave out of the clutches of those weird stoner kids, but—

Has he ever actually _asked_ for help?

EB: no?

TG: yeah so

TG: this is me

TG: asking

TG: please

EB: dude

TG: ill owe you forever, cmon

TG: you can have my soul or my firstborn or whatever else you want dude you should totally take this once in a lifetime opportunity

TG: think of all the blackmail you could use it for

John doesn’t care about keeping score. He certainly doesn’t care about whatever weird future promises of subservience Dave is trying to offer—but Vriska’s wrong. John does have friends.

And John, ultimately, will still do anything for those friends. That’s how he knows.

His hands are shaking, he notes, distantly. This is probably a side-effect of being incurably stupid.

EB: alright

EB: i'll do it

TG: excellent

TG: slight catch

TG: and its kinda weird so im just gonna say it outright:

TG: no matter what you cant tell vriska

**Author's Note:**

> Here we gooooo at long last. I've had this on my computer forever. It's a pretty cool story even if it heads to some nasty places. Karkat shows up in the next chapter, but it takes until like chapter 3 for him to become an actual character, so I hope ya'll like John's narration cause we'll be here for a bit.


End file.
